‘Can you believe this day?’ Dan said as we settled down on the water’s edge at McKell Park, on the shores of Sydney Harbour. It was indeed another beautiful day in paradise and he was showing me how the locals spend their time off. People were swimming in the harbour, barbequing on the grass littered with picnic baskets and packs of raw meat. Children filled the air with whoops and laughter and dogs barked excitedly under this amazing sun in this special place.

‘It’s a secret sanctuary,’ Dan said, then smiled to himself, as a child ran over his feet, followed by a yapping dog, ‘that the world and his wife, kids and dog knows about.’

Grassed landscaped terraces stepped down into the harbour from manicured gardens. Magnificent mature trees surrounded the area, and if it wasn’t a Sunday, I’d imagine it really could be a secret sanctuary.

‘It’s just beautiful,’ I sighed, watching Clover on her blanket, kicking her legs, tightening her little fists. Enjoy this time, baby girl, I thought, because it’s only now you’re really free.

‘Yeah, it’s one of my favourite places, you can get married here,’ he shot a look at me. ‘I always thought about this place… you know, when I asked you…?’

I felt suddenly awkward, still angry with myself for saying no, for breaking his heart – but knowing at the time I’d had no choice.

We let the silence fall, and like pink balloons disappearing into the bluest sky, my sadness and regret was swallowed up. I looked out onto lush green meeting the blue of the water, and instead of thinking of the wedding that never was, I dared to hope. A warm Australian spring, the purple sea of jacaranda trees, sun shimmering through their lavender-hued lace, and a couple, hand in hand. I saw only silhouettes in my head, but it was Dan and I laughing in the sunshine, running to the registry office, me in a white dress and short veil, both in flip-flops, a bouquet of wild flowers caught in my hand. But almost as soon as the image was downloaded, I wiped it from my hard drive. I couldn’t ask for this – I’d had my chance and had to let it go.

‘I wish things were different, that you’d waited,’ I said.

‘For what? For ten, twenty years or never? You told me not to wait… You said it was over, Faye.’

‘I know, I know and…’ Then I realised he might think I was blaming him, that I resented Clover, or Saffron. ‘Clover makes up for everything,’ I said, holding a teething rattle she gnawed happily on.

‘Yeah, but promise me you won’t leave. Once I’ve had a chance to sort things out with Saffron…’

‘Dan, let’s just enjoy today and not worry about tomorrow.’

‘I thought that was my line?’ he laughed.

‘It used to be. I think I’m chilling out and you’re becoming more uptight in your old age,’ I said.

He pushed me gently in reprimand, and as he did so, he caught my arm and pulled me towards him. We sat for a while and watched Clover, who was now sleeping, exhausted from the leg waving and arm stretching baby workout she’d just done on her blanket. I gazed around me at the sun peeping through the trees, the birds singing, and Dan here with me, his baby sleeping – and I wished life was always this simple.

‘So, let’s get this picnic started,’ Dan suddenly said. Food was always his best way of communicating, and as he brought out of the basket a beautiful olive-studded loaf, cheeses and charcuterie, I felt loved.

We ate slowly, savouring the soft, doughy bread, with salty olives, and the cheeses were delicious.

‘Taste some of my Tongola Billy,’ Dan said provocatively, with a twinkle in his eye. I could only imagine Mandy’s reaction to that offer if she was within hearing distance, I’d never live it down.

‘You Australians are so coarse,’ I giggled as he proffered a lump of farmhouse cheese apparently made from ‘the milk of thirty organically reared Toggenburg goats’.

‘You can tell it’s made by Swiss expats,’ he said as we munched on the strong, nutty cheese, ‘such a strong rind formation.’

‘I’ve missed that,’ I smiled, looking into his eyes.

‘You’ve missed strong rind formation?’

I laughed. ‘No, I missed you banging on about where the food comes from, which goat, which patch of land… I’ve missed it.’

‘I’ve missed you,’ he said, and this time when he reached for me I let him put his hand on mine. It sent a tingle through my whole body, and I knew we couldn’t go on like this because I was starting to sweat again. I longed to say ‘I missed you too’ but I didn’t want to turn the day into a misery fest where we both looked back with regret.

‘I made cake,’ he said, later, when I was so full after all the cheeses I could barely think about cake. I said barely. He brought out a plastic box, and inside was the palest, lightest lavender sponge, smothered in rose icing and crystallised rose petals. The fragrance of the rose and lavender hit me as soon as he opened the box.

‘An English summer garden,’ I sighed.

‘Yeah… Makes me think of you, fragrant and delicious,’ he said, cutting a slice.

I laughed, but my heart did a little dance as I bit into the delicious, light sponge. ‘When did you have the time to make this?’

‘Clover woke me at 5 a.m. and suggested we bake,’ he said. ‘I’m adding it to the café menu.’

‘You’re keeping the lemon cake though?’ I asked.

‘Of course, we’ll always bake lemon cake… It’s where it all started, you and me.’

I smiled, happy to know whatever happened, he’d always serve lemon cake, because it reminded him of us.

‘This could have been our wedding cake…’ He caressed my arm and I felt my eyes well with tears, the taste of the cake now overwhelming me, my feelings for him just filling me up.

‘You have to stop,’ I said seriously. ‘You’re making me feel sad, and guilty and…’

‘Sorry.’

To my relief, Clover started to cry and he was distracted. She was obviously hungry, and her nappy needed changing. He was holding an empty bottle, a tub of formula, and a baby, and now he was trying to bend down and take a nappy from the bag under the buggy. Instantly, all thoughts of weddings and cakes were ejected from my mind as I went into action.

‘Dan, you’ll drop her,’ I said, leaping up and gathering her in my arms just before she landed on the grass. ‘Whatever you’re doing, you make the baby safe first,’ I added, like an overprotective midwife. ‘You can leave her on the blanket while you do all that… She can’t fall off a blanket on the ground.’

Disaster averted, I was laughing now as I held her against my chest, her tiny head in my hands, glad to have her safe as he pottered around, picking up baby wipes and balancing the tub of formula under his chin. Clover was yelling – she was frustrated, hungry, probably very uncomfortable in a wet nappy… and now the formula powder seemed to be escaping from the tub.

‘Look, let me help, or this will take all day, and Clover doesn’t have all day – places to go, people to see,’ I said.

Dan was trying so hard, but it seemed the harder he tried, the more catastrophic he became.

‘Why don’t you take the bottle and the formula into the café, charm whoever’s behind the counter to warm it for you? And I’ll change her nappy,’ I said, placing Clover on my shoulder and taking the nappy-changing kit from the buggy.

He watched me, as he stood by, surrounded by a light dusting of baby formula and a lot of muslin cloths. ‘How do you do that?’ he asked, ‘you make it look so effortless… Is it a woman thing?’

‘No, it isn’t, you sexist pig, it’s practice!’ I smiled, as we trudged off towards the café, and civilisation.

I nudged open the toilet door and once inside began the process of changing Clover’s nappy. It felt strange – the last time I changed a nappy was Rosie’s, about three years before, and Emma’s before that – I didn’t expect to be doing it again. I chatted to Clover, telling her how gorgeous she was and how lucky she was to live here and how beautiful and clever she’d be when she grew up. Then I realised someone was in one of the cubicles and I felt a bit foolish. Whoever was in there must have thought I was crazy.

With Clover changed, we headed back into the park café and Dan had ordered cold drinks and was warming Clover’s bottle as we settled down to join him. He went up to the counter for milk to go with the tea as I fed Clover, and through an ornate mirror on the wall, I spotted someone leaving the toilets. I was sure it was the woman I’d almost knocked over on the beach when I’d said goodbye to Dan in the coffee shop. I had to smile – Sydney was a big place, but we lived in such a small world. Seeing that woman reminded me how I’d felt that day and how different things were now. I was more composed, less hysterical, and Dan and I were closer, more relaxed with each other. And yet there was something still holding us both back, and I couldn’t help but think it was the idea of Saffron. I found it difficult to think of her; I felt intrigued, but at the same time I felt guilty, particularly on a day like today when I was spending time with Clover… and Dan. I hoped he was right and she didn’t care about him, but then again only she could confirm that and I found it hard to imagine anyone not being in love with Dan.

The rest of the afternoon flew by. We sat in the shade under the jacaranda trees, now violet in the late winter sunshine. I still found it hard to get my head around winter in July. If I stayed here, would I ever get used to living in a topsy-turvy world?

The late afternoon segued into early evening and we barely noticed. As Clover slept, we talked about Dan’s ideas for the café.

‘So, do you think you’ll open another café?’ I asked, and he explained that he and Shane, his business partner, were keen to open one further down the coast.

My plan was less ambitious and pretty straightforward: I was going to teach English literature to teenagers. ‘I must be mad,’ I sighed, ‘but if I can convince just one of them that Shakespeare is relevant today then I can die happy. Oh, and that the syntax and diction Scott Fitzgerald uses is perfection; he conjures such terrible beauty – a time of rags and riches, splendour and ugliness. The contradictions, the subtle nuances… Then there’s Jane Austen, a copy of Pride and Prejudice would teach young women more than a bloody YouTuber…’

Dan laughed. ‘Whoa, Faye! You’re as passionate about literature as I am about cheese.’

‘Mmm, I still have a way to go… That stuff you said earlier about thirty organic goats was the cheese equivalent of trainspotting.’

‘You could teach here in Sydney?’ he said, screwing up his face in the sunshine, suddenly serious.

‘Yeah, but I’m a British citizen, I don’t know how that would work – I’d have to look into visas,’ I said, then realised that if we married, my status would be different. I changed the subject; I didn’t want him to think I was dropping hints. ‘Anyway, enough about me, tell me all about fascinating Australian cheese,’ I teased.

‘Such unique, exciting flavours… such culinary loveliness… I mean, the creativity, the imagination! Bruny Island “OEN” is washed in a mix of brine and a local Pinot Noir…’

‘STOP!’ I laughed, covering my ears, but actually quite interested. ‘Wait… Did you say cheese washed in wine?’

‘Yeah, then wrapped in the Pinot Noir vine leaves.’

‘Yum!’ Oh my God, how had I never heard of this?

‘We have it at the café. When you next come over, you can taste it.’

I wanted so much to stay here with Dan in this bubble, pretending everything was fine, but I still felt we both needed time to think. And I couldn’t do that when he was looking at me with his big blue eyes and Clover was being so cute, I was falling for her too.

‘Yeah, I’ll come to the café when I get back… I’m going to do the coast road drive.’

‘Yeah?’ He seemed a little deflated, but I ploughed on.

‘Yeah. I thought I’d book a car and set off for Melbourne tomorrow,’ I said, brightly, not allowing him to creep into the cracks and change my mind. He looked crushed now.

‘It’s not that I don’t want you to go, but don’t go,’ he said. ‘Or, if you do, what about the day after? I could come with you?’

‘You’ve got the café and Clover.’ This, after all, was what it all boiled down to.

‘I know, but you’re more important than the café. And Saff’s back then, so I won’t have to worry about Clover.’

‘I want to make the most of my time – see as much of Australia as I can. What if you can’t get time off?’ I was still feeling strongly about not waiting around for anyone anymore. This was my time to put me first and get on with my life without working to someone else’s schedule.

‘I will – I will get the time off, even if I have to shut the place. You and I need this time together, it’s important. I want to show you that we can still be us… and you and me on the coast road to Melbourne would be perfect.’

Being Dan, he was soon swept up in the culinary delights of this prospective journey and spoke lovingly of olive groves and freshly shucked oysters. I drew the line at his suggestion of emu and Parma ham-wrapped wallaby, which put me in mind of a bushtucker trial.

‘That’s what it is – bush tucker, eaten by the indigenous peoples,’ he said earnestly.

‘I’d rather have lemon cake,’ I smiled.

‘I’ll bring some with us,’ he grinned, just as his phone rang. It was the café. Again. He’d called them earlier to check things were okay, and now someone was calling him with a query about something or other. The café was always on the phone or on his mind, it was relentless, but he seemed glad to be at the park, and putting down his phone he said, ‘I need to sort out the work-life balance, you know? This is how things should be.’ He sighed, looking at me and reaching for my hand over his sleeping baby, who suddenly woke and began to cry. He rolled his eyes and looked stressed again and I thought how much we both needed to get away from all the pressures and spend time together just driving along that coast road to Melbourne. He was right, we couldn’t work things out while we were apart, so why not try to do it together?

Later, we ate fish and chips in the harbour and watched the sun set, and when we’d finished, I leaned my head on his shoulder. He put his arm around me and we talked about our plans to go away for a few days.

‘We’ll go the day after tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I promise, nothing will get in the way, it’s important to me.’ And in the darkening skies, among a handful of stars and a shimmer of water, we kissed, and my heart lost its way, melting on my tongue, fragile as spun sugar.

Back in my hotel room that night, my mind wandered to the jacaranda trees, to Dan’s blue eyes and Clover’s brown ones. I thought of the three of us together, not a family as such, but we could become one – one day perhaps? I’d like to think I’d be there a little for Clover, to cuddle her, change her nappy, feed her. I wondered if I’d figure in her future? I could feel the softness of her baby cheek, like Emma’s, and Rosie’s. Would Clover also be one of my babies some day? I didn’t know, but I couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing her ever again. I’d already said goodbye to Emma and Rosie. All these babies, all these goodbyes, made my heart sore. This time, I was opening myself up to double heartache: loving Dan meant loving Clover, the two were intertwined.

I drank a long glass of cold water to take away the memory of Clover’s soft cheek, of Dan’s warm kisses. But when I woke the following morning, I could still remember them, and it was too late – I knew I always would.